


reciprocal arrangement

by bittersweetResilience



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Relationship Study, but they're trying, the vegas have a... complicated relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25609246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetResilience/pseuds/bittersweetResilience
Summary: It’s getting dark out, and as annoying as it is, Ernest doesn’t think Colin and his cool high school brother are coming back for him.or,Ernest gets a ride, and a meal.
Relationships: Ernest Vega & Hugo Vega
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	reciprocal arrangement

It’s getting dark out, and as annoying as it is, Ernest doesn’t think Colin and his cool high school brother are coming back for him.

Damn it. He should have known better than to trust them. Sure, it got him a ticket downtown, where he was free to sneak into less dingy theaters and pet alleyway dogs without being scolded about hygiene, but now he’s stranded and Colin is definitely going to tell the whole school if he’s late to class tomorrow because of it.

Ernest digs around in the pockets of his hoodie. He’s got a couple of coins and crumpled dollar bills, his vape pen, a lighter, and a cool-looking dented bottle cap. Definitely not enough for a taxi.

Grumbling under his breath, he pulls out his phone to text his dad.

**_Ernest  
_ ** (9:22 PM) hey can u come pick me up

He waits a few minutes, slouching idly by the side of the road. No response. Rolling his eyes, he calls instead.

After an agonizingly long four rings, his dad picks up. Loud background noise immediately blares through the receiver, and Ernest pulls the phone slightly away from his ear, wincing.

“Th’ fuck is this?” his dad slurs.

“Can you come pick me up?” Ernest asks. Hesitating, he adds, “It’s me. Ernest.”

The music thrums. Bass-heavy. Is he at a… party? Club?

Sounding marginally more sober, his dad responds, “I’m with friends right now. Can’t you walk home?”

“No. I’m downtown.”

“What’s wrong?” he hears someone else ask, muffled. Female.

“Nothing,” his dad rushes. “Ernest, sweetie, call me back later. Now’s not a good time.”

“Dad, come on—”

He hangs up.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Ernest groans. Great. As cool as it is to go to parties on the weekend that Mr. Christiansen would be horrified to ever see, it’s way less cool when it means that his dad is too drunk to even call him a taxi.

For a moment, he considers really just trying to walk home, but the temperature is dropping by the minute and Maple Bay is big enough that the downtown area is a good ten miles from the bayside.

Damn it again. Reluctantly, he scrolls through his contacts.

**_Ernest  
_ ** (9:28 PM) come pick me up

**_Hugo  
_ ** (9:29 PM) Ernest, you know today is trivia night.  
(9:29 PM) Wait, are you not at home?  
(9:30 PM) Where are you?

**_Ernest  
_ ** (9:30 PM) downtown  
(9:30 PM) come pick me up

**_Hugo  
_ ** (9:31 PM) …All right. Can you give me a more specific location?

**_Ernest  
_ ** (9:31 PM) idk im next to a movie theater and a starbucks  
(9:32 PM) can u hurry up

**_Hugo  
_ ** (9:33 PM) I’ll be there in twenty minutes.  
(9:33 PM) Stay on the sidewalk. Don’t talk to strangers.

**_Ernest  
_ ** (9:33 PM) yeah whatever

Ernest stuffs one hand back into his hoodie, scrolling through the group chat messages he was too lazy to check earlier with the other. In just over fifteen minutes, Hugo’s car is pulling over beside him.

He pockets his phone and climbs into the backseat. Hugo looks even more stressed than usual, and that’s saying something. The car doesn’t move. Ernest tips his head back against the headrest, staring at the holes in the ceiling where he played with his lighter when he was bored.

“Can you drive already?” he complains.

“Are you all right?” Hugo’s voice is a weird sort of anxious, like he can’t decide if he’s more worried or more angry.

“I’m _fine_.”

“Why were you downtown?” he presses.

“Why do I have to tell you? Can we just go?” Ernest shoots back.

Hugo’s mouth tightens, but he pulls back onto the road. Ernest fingers his vape pen, frustration spiking when he remembers that he’s out of e-liquid.

A few minutes of tense silence pass. The dense neons of the downtown area glow outside the car windows.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Hugo asks, more softly.

“Aren’t you gonna yell at me about curfew or whatever?”

“We will _talk_ about that later. Right now I need to make sure that you’re okay.” Hugo keeps his eyes on the road. Oddly enough, it makes Ernest feel better.

“Dad wouldn’t give me a ride home,” he mumbles, which is only sort of related. In the rearview mirror, he sees Hugo’s face fall.

“Don’t take it to heart, son. Responsibility… has never been your father’s strong suit.”

“Wow, is that why you got divorced?” Ernest says sarcastically, even though he knows it’s mean. Maybe because he knows it’s mean.

Hugo flinches. Ernest swallows, feeling a little guilty despite himself.

“No,” Hugo says eventually. Collecting himself, he continues, “I won’t push if you don’t want to share. But you know that the reason why I want you home before dark is because I’m concerned for your safety. Don’t do this again.”

“You can’t control me.”

Hugo sighs. “Believe me, I’m not trying to.”

Ernest stares stubbornly out the window, watching the road signs and passerby go past. Eventually, he relents. “…fine.”

“Thank you, son,” Hugo says earnestly.

“Whatever.”

The rest of the drive passes in silence. They pull into their driveway a few minutes after Ernest’s phone notifies him that his battery is at ten percent, and he pulls his hood lower so Hugo can’t see him blinking slowly, lulled into exhaustion by the rhythmic motions of the car.

Ernest lets himself into the house while Hugo is checking that all the windows are rolled up. The living room is dark and cluttered with neat stacks of books and paperwork; Ernest slaps on all the lights at once and decides promptly that he wants a dog. It won’t stop him from skulking around dumpsters in search of strays, but Hugo doesn’t need to know that.

There’s dinner on the table. Some kind of vegetable plate. Ernest doesn’t look too closely, making a beeline for the refrigerator where he keeps the pizza rolls. Ugh. Hugo got the _healthy_ kind again.

“Ernest,” Hugo says sternly from where he’s shrugging off his tweed jacket at the door. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to.

Ernest scowls. He arranges the frozen rolls on the sides of the stupid vegetable dish and shoves the entire thing into the microwave. Hugo rolls his eyes heavenward but concedes. “I suppose that is a fair compromise.”

There’s an awkward pause while Ernest waits for the food to heat up, sorely tempted to take it out before it’s ready just to have something to occupy his hands with. Hugo sets his briefcase down beside the couch, reshuffles some of the papers on the coffee table, and fiddles with the car keys, apparently unable to decide which hook to hang them on.

“Can you stop hovering?” Ernest snaps eventually. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Hugo  leaves the keys on the hook closest to the door , pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sitting now that his transparent ruse has been exposed. He takes off his glasses, setting them down in front of him without folding the legs in. Ernest has no idea what Hugo wants from him, and he says as much.

“Nothing!” Hugo insists, before he says, “It’s almost ten thirty, and I know you haven’t started on your schoolwork yet—”

“You don’t know that,” Ernest says petulantly.

Hugo ignores him. “—and you’re just now eating dinner. I think I’m allowed to hover a little.”

“Well, you should get used to it,” Ernest grumbles.

Hugo pinches the bridge of his nose, visibly pushing away whatever he was going to say in response to that. He suddenly looks very tired. Ernest stares hard at the microwave door until it dings. He retrieves his plate and rummages through the drawer for a fork.

“I’m glad you came to me,” Hugo says finally. Quickly, like he wants to get the words out before Ernest can reject them, he adds, “You can always come to me for anything. Okay?”

He pulls out the chair next to him as Ernest rounds the table, making for his bedroom. Ernest isn’t sure why he stops, but he does. Hugo looks at him. Ernest takes the olive branch for what it is and sits down.

He pokes at a pizza roll with his index finger. Too hot. He reluctantly picks up his fork, spearing through a strip of bell pepper, stir-fried to perfection and heated to an annoyingly edible temperature.

Hugo smiles when he takes a bite. Chews. Swallows.

“Yeah,” Ernest says. He stabs another bell pepper, but brings it to his mouth. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> “It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.”
> 
> — J. D. Salinger, _The Catcher in the Rye_


End file.
